Shangjun was geographically remote, and its strategic importance did not compare to that of He Xi. The court paid the place little attention; its population was sparse, mostly indigenous inhabitants. Traveling along the desolate narrow trails, one might go days without encountering any place with a dense cluster of people. But Shangjun had gentle valleys with abundant grasslands, and had been an excellent location for raising horses since ancient times. The Shangjun horse farm was one of the empire’s important breeding grounds for warhorses.

On her journey northwest, Pu Zhu, afraid that those pursuing her might trace her whereabouts, abandoned the main roads and took the smaller paths, asking for directions as she went. Eventually, finding the carriage too cumbersome for the narrow tracks, she discarded it altogether and rode on horseback, until on this day she finally located the horse farm.

The farm was far from the commandery city, situated in a valley ringed by surrounding peaks—extremely secluded. Nearby were only mountain folk and hunters who had lived there for generations. Aside from the occasional visit from commandery officials once every month or two for inspection, outside visitors were exceedingly rare.

Several grooms who were busy moving fodder near the horse farm gate were greatly surprised to see Pu Zhu and her unexpected party arrive. When they learned she was the daughter of an old acquaintance of the Horse Supervisor and had come specifically to pay a visit, they quickly led her inside and asked her to wait a moment, saying they would go and fetch the Horse Supervisor.

Learning that Jiang Yi was indeed at the farm at this moment, Pu Zhu asked the groom to take her to him directly. The groom led her there, bringing her to the riverbank within the farm. Pu Zhu saw a man in faded gray old clothes washing a horse at the water’s edge, his back turned, absorbed in his task. She recognized him at once—it was Jiang Yi, the same man she had happened to encounter in the heavy rain outside the capital’s city gate at the beginning of the year.

She had traveled a great distance and finally arrived at her destination, and now she was looking at the person she had come to see. Emotion surged within her. She called out: “General Jiang! Uncle Jiang!”

Jiang Yi heard her voice. His back stiffened slightly, as though he hesitated for a moment, then he slowly turned his head. When he saw it was her, he was startled at first, his face showing surprise—but very quickly, a smile appeared, and he immediately came up from the riverbank toward her.

She could not say why—perhaps it was from reading her father’s diary over and over—but this man, who had existed in her mind as only a grand and blurry figure of a former great general of the empire, had gradually seemed to merge with her father’s image in her heart. Seeing him recognize her and come toward her with a warm smile, she could not hold back what felt like the emotion of reuniting with a long-missed family member: joy, grievance, relief—all manner of feelings surged up at once. She took a few steps, running toward him, and then suddenly felt her ears ringing, her vision darkening, and the world spinning.

When she and Ye Xiao had parted that day, she had already been feeling unwell—it had likely been a combination of mental and physical exhaustion, compounded by accidentally catching cold on the road. Throughout this journey she had been sleeping outdoors, often in the open wilderness, and her body had grown weaker and weaker. Only a stubborn thread of determination had kept her going, holding on until she got here. Now that she had finally seen Jiang Yi, the moment her whole being relaxed, she could no longer hold on, and she fainted.

She was unconscious for a full day. The next day she woke to find herself lying in a wooden room. A shaft of light came in through a small square window; tiny motes of dust drifted soundlessly through the light and shadow. All around was perfectly quiet. Faintly, she could hear Jiang Yi and Luo Bao talking. Jiang Yi was asking about her condition, then said in a low voice: “You look after her well. I will go and trade with the mountain folk for some mountain delicacies, then catch two fish—I will come back and make her some broth.”

Pu Zhu slowly closed her eyes again. A fine, thin thread of happiness moved through her heart.

In the evening, she drank the fish broth that Jiang Yi had made with his own hands. The snow-white soup was dotted with clusters of mountain mushrooms, and the flavor was wonderfully savory. She ate it spoonful by spoonful, finishing every bit of fish and broth.

Luo Bao came in carrying a thick animal hide pelt, saying Jiang Yi had sent it. He had reminded them that the horse farm was situated in a valley and the nights were cold; fearing that the illness had left her body weak, he had sent it to be used as an extra covering for the bed.

“He was worried it might smell, so he specifically asked the mountain folk for dried cassia twigs and smoked it inside and out several times before sending me to bring it to the Princess Consort.”

Luo Bao said this as he spread the hide out on the bed.

Pu Zhu breathed in the pleasant faint dry and spicy fragrance of cassia emanating from the pelt. She drifted in thought for a moment, then rose from the bed.

“Princess Consort, where are you going? You only just fainted yesterday—”

Pu Zhu dressed herself, retrieved the object she had wrapped carefully in cloth, and went out to find Jiang Yi.

The sun was nearing dusk. The grooms in the farm were driving the horses into the stables; whistles mixed with the low whinnying of the animals, all bustle yet orderly.

Pu Zhu saw Jiang Yi standing in the distance by a fence at the far edge of the enclosure, hands clasped behind his back, facing the direction of the setting sun over the open land, gazing into the distance.

His figure was still as a pillar of stone, and the setting sun stretched a long diagonal shadow behind him on the ground, as though he had taken root there.

Pu Zhu stopped behind him and waited quietly.

The sun sank below the horizon; the dusk deepened. Jiang Yi still stood like that. After a long while, he turned his head and saw her. He immediately turned around and walked to her, asking with concern: “Why are you up? Are you feeling better?”

Pu Zhu pulled her fur cloak tighter around her shoulders and smiled. “I am well wrapped up—not cold. And I feel much better already. Thank you, Uncle, for sending me the extra covering. And the fish broth—it was so delicious. I finished every drop!”

Jiang Yi smiled and said: “I could see you were weak and need nourishment. And in truth, there is not much to offer here—the food is plain and rough. I was afraid you would not find it to your taste. If you think it is acceptable, I will go catch fish for you again tomorrow!”

Pu Zhu said: “Please do not trouble yourself, Uncle. I grew up in He Xi when I was small—I am not afraid of hardship. I eat everything.”

Jiang Yi looked at her, and a thread of tenderness and pity showed in his eyes. He said gently: “You must have endured a great deal of hardship in the past. Your father left early, and I never had the chance all these years to look after you in his stead. Now that you have come—Supervisor Luo has already told me everything that happened on the road. You made it here after all of that, and everything I have done is the least I could offer. Please, do not think twice about it or stand on ceremony with me.”

He glanced around at the surroundings.

“It is nearly dark—be careful of the rising wind and cold. Come, let me walk you back to rest.”

Pu Zhu said: “Actually, I have come here for another reason beyond seeking refuge. I have something here that belongs to you—I have come specifically to return it to its rightful owner.”

She took out the crane flute and offered it with both hands.

Jiang Yi glanced at the cloth-wrapped cylindrical object—at first he seemed puzzled—and took it. When he unwrapped the cloth and the bone flute was revealed, his hands came to a sudden halt. He stared at it for a long moment, then looked up sharply: “How did this come to be with you?”

“On my father’s final mission before his death, he traveled to Yinyue City to meet with the Great Long Princess. Before departing, my father asked the Great Long Princess if she had any message for you. The Great Long Princess entrusted this object to my father. Then, unexpectedly, my father met his tragic end, and this object later passed through various hands and came to rest at our family’s old home in our hometown, gathering dust over the years. At the end of last year I returned home, and it was purely by chance—while sorting through my father’s writings—that I learned of this. Fortunately the keepsake was still there. I took it and have now come to deliver it on my father’s behalf.”

She did not dare ask about the history behind the crane flute. When she finished speaking, she quietly watched him. She saw him fix his gaze on the flute in his hand; his figure seemed to have frozen in place, and for a very long time he did not stir.

She could guess at the deep intent behind Princess Jinxi’s returning the crane flute, and she thought Jiang Yi understood it even more clearly than she did.

This is my farewell to you. I hope all things may go well for you.

Seeing him like this, thinking of the fates these two had been given in a previous life, she found she could not bear it after all. She hesitated, then said quietly: “General, though I do not fully understand the Princess’s meaning—whatever it may be, I believe she wishes you well. Your remaining years are long. If you can find your resolve and take care of yourself, the Princess Consort will surely feel boundless comfort in her heart.”

Jiang Yi slowly tightened his grip around the slender flute. He raised his gaze to look at her, and gradually a smile appeared on his face. He nodded to her, tucked the crane flute away carefully, then said: “Come, let me walk you back. Settle in and recover from your illness. Get well soon.”

That night, a great wind rose in the valley. At times it moaned and sobbed; at others, it was like a wailing cry. Pu Zhu lay in the little wooden room, listening to the wind outside, drifting in and out of a half-sleep, and in her ears she seemed to catch the faint sound of a flute.

She woke with a start, curled beneath the covers, and tilted her head to listen. But the sound of the flute had vanished—only the wind remained.

Jiang Yi doted on her greatly. While she was staying to recover, he thought every day of ways to bring her nourishing food. After a few days, noticing she often went to sit in the sun beneath an old wisteria behind the horse farm, he built her a swing with his own hands, so she could play there.

Pu Zhu felt as though she had found her way into a world apart—a tranquility unlike any she had known. In these days of recuperating here, she felt a ease and comfort she had not experienced since the age of eight. There were even moments when a fanciful notion arose in her heart: what if she just stayed here forever and never went back out?

One afternoon, the sun was bright and warm. Luo Bao was helping her wash her long hair beneath the wisteria tree.

There was no wind. The air was fragrant with flowers; in her ears hummed the drone of bees flitting from bloom to bloom. The spring sun was warm and drowsy.

“Princess Consort, your hair is truly lovely—so thick and soft, like silk. Your servant has never seen such beautiful hair. Just now I added fragrant flowers to the hot water—once it dries, it will smell wonderful…”

Luo Bao was gently combing her long hair as it gradually dried, offering compliments as he went, his mouth apparently dipped in honey.

Pu Zhu closed her eyes.

“I did not realize how capable you are—that day you knocked Shen Yang down with a single blow. He trained as a military man in the Southern Bureau in his younger years and was one of my foster father’s capable people. I had been a little worried you might miss.” She said this in a languid tone, as if chatting idly.

Luo Bao, hearing her praise, was secretly pleased, but said modestly: “The Princess Consort flatters me. It is all entirely His Highness’s doing. In the early years when your servant followed His Highness to guard the mausoleum—had to find something to pass the time, didn’t I? His Highness, besides cultivating the way, was passionate about archery. He would shoot an entire day without stopping, until his fingers were raw from the bowstring, blood and all, and he still did not seem to feel the pain. Your servant’s eyes are not sharp enough for archery, so I followed His Highness in learning some boxing and wrestling.”

He puffed out his chest. “Princess Consort, do not be fooled by how I keep quiet most days—I am wholehearted and loyal to the Princess Consort! When it truly comes to protecting you, I will never waver!”

Pu Zhu made a sound of acknowledgment: “Is that so. Why does it seem as though one of the guards is missing—I have not seen his face for some days. Do you happen to know where he has gone?”

Luo Bao understood—she must have seen through the fact that a few days ago he had quietly dispatched someone to send a message back. He scrambled to his knees in a panic: “Princess Consort, please forgive me. Your servant was afraid that with no news for so long, His Highness and Ye Xiao would worry. So I took the liberty of sending word.”

He finished speaking and bowed his head, waiting. When no sound came after a long while, he stole a glance upward—saw her eyes were closed, as though she had fallen asleep. He let out a breath of relief. He looked up, and suddenly caught sight of a groom coming running from the direction of the horse farm. Not wanting to wake her, he quickly scrambled up from the ground and hurried over, asking what the matter was.

The groom said: “Someone just arrived outside—says his surname is Li. Says he is here to visit the Horse Supervisor. The Horse Supervisor happened to go out to inspect the pasture today, so the visitor mentioned your name.”

Luo Bao’s heart gave a tremendous thump. He looked back quickly at the Princess Consort, who still had her eyes closed, and dashed toward the front gate. When he got there, from a distance he could already make out the figure of a man standing there—it was the Prince of Qin. He did not know why, but his chest suddenly ached and his eyes went hot and tears began to stream down. He ran to stand before him, dropped to his knees, grabbed hold of his sleeve, and through his sobs said: “Your Highness! You have come! Your servant has been waiting to death for you!”

Li Xuandu had finally arrived. Seeing Luo Bao come out, knowing he was about to see her at any moment, he suppressed that blood-surging feeling despite the exhaustion of days of hard riding, and glanced toward the interior of the horse farm. He told him to get up: “Where is the Princess Consort? Has her illness gotten better?” He had just finished asking when he saw Luo Bao was still crying without stopping. His heart gave a sudden jolt, and he grabbed hold of his clothing and hauled him up off the ground.

“Has something happened to her?” His expression had already changed drastically.

Luo Bao was frightened and frantically shook his head, choking: “The Princess Consort is fine. Your Highness, please forgive me—it is just that your servant saw Your Highness arrive and felt both happy and heartbroken all at once, and couldn’t hold back for a moment…”

Only then did Li Xuandu breathe out, release his collar, and told him to take him to her at once.

Luo Bao said “right away,” wiped his tears, and hurried to lead the way, saying as he went: “The Princess Consort was exhausted from the long journey and fell ill on the road. The very day she arrived, as soon as she saw General Jiang, she could not hold on any longer and fainted. She has been recuperating for quite a few days now, and only in the past few days has her color started to improve. Fortunately, the General has shown her tremendous care and has looked after her in every possible way. A few days ago he even formally adopted her as his goddaughter…”

Li Xuandu was already barely listening. His eyes were fixed on what lay ahead, his footsteps growing ever more urgent. He followed Luo Bao to the back of the horse farm, turned past a bamboo fence, and suddenly stopped.

Not far ahead, wisteria blossoms were in full and abundant bloom—dense as clouds. A gust of wind passed, and butterfly-shaped petals drifted down in a cascade, like a shower of flowers falling from the sky.

She was seated on a swing beneath the blossoms. She was not swinging—she simply let the swing turn gently in the breeze. She tilted her head slightly to one side, resting it against the rope frame. Her skirt drifted softly in the wind, and she was beautiful as a painting.

Li Xuandu gazed at her, his eyes unblinking, very nearly dazed.

When the swing turned and she came back around, she saw him. She did not get off the swing to meet him, nor did she walk away.

She simply sat there as before, and their eyes met across the distance.

Li Xuandu finally took a step forward. Beneath the gaze of those beautiful eyes, he walked toward her step by step, came to the front of the swing, and stopped. He gazed fixedly at her face—which had become even more fine-boned and delicate.

After a long moment, he reached out, his finger lightly brushing this face that showed a slight lack of color, and called her by her childhood pet name: “Shuzhu…”

Pu Zhu quickly turned her head aside, averted her face, evading the hand reaching toward her, then climbed down from the swing and moved around him to leave. She had barely taken a step when Li Xuandu caught her from behind with one arm around her waist, lifted her effortlessly, and settled her back down on the swing.

“I beg you—please do not be angry with me anymore. All right?” he said quietly, imploring.

Pu Zhu made no further attempt to get down. She held the ropes with her fair hands, tilted her head slightly, and glanced at him from the side. Then she gave a soft, amused laugh: “Was it not I who broke your most precious thing? And did you not call me a foolish girl? Can it be you are no longer angry with me now?”

Li Xuandu said: “Even if the object were completely gone, my bond with Father would not vanish with it. It is only a thing. If it is there, all is well; if it is not, that is fine too.”

“Shuzhu—in all the time we have been apart, I have finally come to understand one thing.”

“When I cannot see you, I think of you.”

“I am very fond of you. I have missed you terribly. That is the truth.”

He said these words slowly, one by one.

He had finally spoken aloud the words that had been tormenting him in his heart, over and over, all along the way here!

Li Xuandu exhaled a long breath, fixed his gaze on the young woman seated before him on the swing beneath the bower of flowers, and held his breath—waiting for her response.